


Bound

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In ropes, in love, in marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sensation play square on my [Season of Kink](http://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) bingo card.
> 
> (Basically, I'm trying to cure my writer's block through porn.)

I.

Fidgeting is never graceful. It's full of long limbs in motion, rings sliding along fingers, shoes tapping softly on hardwood floors. Even when bound, it takes long minutes for Stiles to finally still, for his body to attune to this new and different thing. His shoes and wedding ring are gone; his body is utterly bare. He lies on whisper-soft sheets, unable to move an inch with his wrists and ankles tied to its four posts, soft ropes like a kiss onto his skin. This is the point when he'd talk, if not for the gag between his lips. _Hurry up. Touch me. Now. (Asshole.) (Love.) (Peter.)_

II.

His sight is similarly gagged, taken from him with permission. Stiles thinks it's been too long. Too long since they've done this, their lives always too busy for a couple hours of letting go. And too long since Peter's touched him. Stiles strains and makes a soft noise in his throat and his lips curl up when he feels a warm hand on his knee. _Brat,_ traces Peter on Stiles' thigh. A finger trails along Stiles' chest—a claw. Stiles follows it with his mind, lets himself map meaningless symbols, until his mind forgets everything but his lover's touch. The rest is hardly important.

III.

His universe is this: Peter's hands grasping him tightly, Peter's breath cool against his nipples, Peter's mouth hot as he sucks on Stiles' skin. Whimpers caught beneath his gag. A soft kiss on his open lips. Stiles can't keep track of the sensations, unable to see them, to expect them. Unable to do anything but feel. He's exposed, yet never vulnerable. Never, when he's with Peter. It's been years now since he's found anything but love in his husband's presence. (Love in the form of safety, and arguments, and banter, and friendship—love in this.)

IV.

Peter traces words against his tender skin, with hands and mouth and breath. Words that Stiles loses track of; words that don't have to be understood to make him fly. His cock is hard, straining for the slightest touch, but is left unseen by Stiles, and unnoticed by Peter. He gives it one kiss; it's enough for Stiles to almost come, to almost give in to the pleasure building inside him. Almost, but not yet. He pushes his hips up as far as he can, but his only reward is Peter's amused huff. _Not yet,_ say the next words.

V.

There's no scarcity of touch against his cock when Peter begins to press inside him. It's caught between their bodies, rocking against every thrust. There's pressure inside him, and against him, and within him, and Stiles would've never been able to vocalize this want had he been able to speak. No words exist. Except: _Peter_. It's a prayer, a plea, a love song. With one long stroke, Stiles comes. When he catches his breath, he's still utterly bound, with rope and come and ever-present desire. In spite of it, because of it, he feels invincible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
